The Heart
by Ariskari
Summary: The heart wants what it wants and what hers wanted was burried deep beneath the ground, living on only in her tear filled memories."


**Summary:** Five years after the second war, Narcissa visits the grave of a loved one.  
**DISCLAIMER:** This story is based on characters and situations created and owned by JK Rowling, various publishers including but not limited to Bloomsbury Books, Scholastic Books and Raincoast Books, and Warner Bros., Inc. No money is being made and no copyright or trademark infringement is intended.

**Author notes:** I originally wrote this as a songfic to My Immortal. But due to banning these I took it down. I am now returning it without the lyrics. If you want to read it with the lyrics still in just email me and I can provide a link.

The Heart

The heart wants what it wants. Why was she the only one who ever seems to realise that? She may have been a supporter the Dark Lord, like many of the pure blood families, but she was never an active follower of the man. They knew that. There was never even enough evidence against her to begin a case, let alone take it to trial or arrest her. So they all asked why she stayed with him. Did she think he would kill her? Had he threatened to hurt their son? Was she frightened? Well, she supposed that the answer to that might be 'yes'. Although many said that it was the most wonderful thing in the world it was also held to be the terrifying. The reason she'd stayed with him? Love. She'd loved him. She still did. Some things went far beyond the grave.

She may not have wished to sometimes. It did hurt. Despite growing up with two sisters she'd never gotten used to sharing and having to share her husband with the Dark Lord hadn't been pleasant. Especially as sometimes she'd had to come second. He had involved her though. She'd almost lost count of the times she'd provided a false alibi for him. Occasionally she'd done the same for Bellatrix and her dim-witted cousin Regulus, but not as often. Lying to protect them still felt like lying, unlike with Lucius. That feeling proved to be a blessing after the Dark Lord's downfall. The small lies she'd told didn't explode back in her face when Bellatrix declared her unwavering support for him. She'd been able to say that like many others someone she'd trusted had deceived her. That statement made it easier for Lucius to be cleared of charges. But sharing him with the others had hurt. When she became pregnant he had stopped involving her. By then the aurors had been granted the use of extreme force against suspected Death Eaters. By keeping her in the dark he would be better able to protect them. He had shared anything she wanted to know with her before then, deciding that it was her choice as to how she got involved, but he hadn't wanted their unborn child in danger. And she had agreed with him. But the idea of him lying to her, hiding things from her, even if it was by mutual consent was still an unpleasant thought.

She knelt down, placing the wreath of pale flowers before the glittering white marble tombstone, next to the lilies Draco had left there earlier in the week. Everyone always thought it odd of her to visit him so regularly. Draco was his son; he was allowed to love him. Why did people think it so strange that she felt the same? How could anyone love an evil, murderous Death Eater unless it was the unconditional love between parent and child? They didn't know what she knew, what their son knew. The man behind the monster.

People often just assumed that once someone became a Death Eater they automatically gave up their humanity. That they were no longer capable of feeling emotion like love or remorse. She could tell from that way he had looked at her and Draco that the former of those was incorrect. A more wonderful husband or caring father would be hard to come by in her opinion. And as for the latter, that view was formed by those who fought against them, not the people who knew them both with and without the mask. She was the one who had seen her husband come home from serving. She was the one who had seen what it had done to him. One evening shortly after he had joined he had come home barely coherent, shivering and trembling even though it was the height of a very warm summer and had spent the majority of the night being sick. She had just assumed that he had been drinking and had had a drop a two more than he should. Before they were married he had often ended up like this after playing drinking games with Macnair, stupid as it was for someone of Lucius's slender build to try and compete with a man Macnair's size. But when the hangover cure she'd left for him went untouched and he was avoiding looking the papers, even though he had a habit of reading the morning ones religiously, she'd realised it was something else. And when she saw the main headline: 'Ministry Official Murdered in Dark Wizard Attack', she'd known for sure. He had killed someone.

When the aurors arrived the following evening to question him about it she protected him. She told them he'd been ill the whole night and that she'd stayed with him. There was no possible way he could have hurt anyone in the state he was in. She agreed with the principle of what they were doing even if she still felt that the methods were questionable and felt that her husband had a right to exercise his beliefs if he wished. The way he carried them out deserved punishment but what he was doing to himself though his actions was punishment enough. On that first night and all the ones that followed he suffered worse than any of his victims had done. She still remembered in her dreams the terror in his face when he awoke after reliving what he had done in his sleep, the agonised fright in his voice when he screamed himself awake. He put himself thought it because he believed that it was the right thing to do, but that didn't mean he never felt guilt or remorse over what he'd done. Unlike Bellatrix who had laughed at the terror she had inspired, the way her victims had died begging her for mercy. She was almost glad her sister was caught for what she did to the Longbottoms. The way she regaled her with what happened pausing only for effect or to release a fit if hysterical laughter horrified her.

Her husband had only appeared cold to try and hide himself away from his guilt. He would become what the majority of people knew as Lucius Malfoy when carrying out the Dark Lord's orders. It was easier for him and enabled him to be the man she was in love with when he came home. Eventually he adopted this mask of ice in public at all times. Watching the world he was damaging was too painful for him to do anything else. His real self was reserved only for her and, when he was born, their son as well. He became cold and distant to even his closest friends. But to her he was still the sweet, charming man who enchanted roses to fly around and make a crown in her hair one valentines day.

That was the man she married, the man she loved. Not the person the world saw. They never really knew him, not the way she and Draco did. They would never understand why after all this time she still came to his grave at least once a week with fresh flowers, often spending hours at a time stilling there in silence. Why even after all this time she would cry as if just recently widowed. She missed him so much yet even she knew that it was probably better this way. The war had ended over five years ago with the victory on the side of the light. The Death Eaters were systematically hunted down. Some had deluded themselves into believing that once again the Dark Lord had not really perished and would rise again. They went quietly to Azkaban to wait in vain. Those who weren't accused of Death Eater activity during the first war were generally able to get off by saying they had been coerced or controlled. But the others, like Lucius, who knew that their master was gone for good and that they wouldn't be able to pled control a second time round faced a difficult choice. Lucius chose to go down fighting.

He knew that if he were caught he would face Azkaban or even the Dementors Kiss. The Kiss terrified him more than anything and he couldn't stand the thought of going back to prison. Even the short Dementor free stay had been torture for him. Either way death seemed more inviting. It was his decision to make. He was entitled to do what he willed and she would not see him return to the hands of the Azkaban guards for anything. Not even the happiness of her or her son. But it was so hard. Dumbledore managed to hold back the bitter anger of his followers so the corpse had been returned to her intact. It was obvious that he had been killed by magic; the peaceful expression on his face made it look as though he was merely sleeping. The funeral had been a waking nightmare. Quiet and dignified like most things Lucius had appreciated in life. Few people arrived. Draco had obviously been there, and Severus, the one man that had always been able to see through her husband's icy façade. But there had been others, Remus Lupin for one. He had presumably come for the same reason she went to Sirius's memorial service: respect. But he did manage to convey considerably more sympathy for her than she even had to him. Her other sister, Andromeda, along with her daughter was a bit of a surprise. She hadn't seen her since before she was married and had never set eyes on Nymphadora except in the photos she had been sent. Draco had been to distraught to realise the aunt and cousin he had never met were present. But the most surprising of all had been Albus Dumbledore.

She'd half expected him to arrive just to make sure Lucius was dead, but Dumbledore wasn't like that. He had looked sad, almost as sad as she felt. She got the impression that as well as paying his respects to his fallen foe he was also mourning the person they could have become.

Tears filled her eyes. Five years later after everyone had moved on, even Draco, only thinking of the war and all those lost on the special memorial days. And now even those had been pushed to once a year rather than once a month as they had previously been. Still not everyone came. But she did. Past the rock garden, beyond the waterfall surrounded by a Japanese lotus pool created for Lucius's grandmother, to the graves of the Malfoys'. She always visited at least twice a week with flowers and often more just to sit. The heart wants what it wants and what hers wanted was burried deep beneath the ground, living on only in her tear filled memories.


End file.
